Guardian Angel
by BrokenForYouSpilledForYou
Summary: Those long, sleek curves. He'd give anything just to touch...just to slide his hand along them. His fingers twitch. "So close..." But so very far away, too. All he can do is stare. Jones fic.
1. Deer in Headlights

**Disclaimer: All I own is the plot. Thank you. Also, for those of you who pay attention to eye color, I have decided to give Jones brown eyes instead of his natural green ones. Don't ask why...I don't know. **

He wants her. Yes. He can't recall the last time he's wanted someone so badly. The healthy color on her body, the sparkle her eyes give off when the sun kisses them, and...those curves. Oh! Those long, sleek curves. He'd give anything just to touch...just to slide his hand along them. His fingers twitch. "_So close..." _But so very far away, too. All he can do is stare; The sounds of the office can't penetrate his attention. All he has to do is get up, walk...

"Jones?"

A stack of papers fall onto his desk. DS Benjamin Jones reluctantly tears his eyes away from the sexy black Volvo sitting quietly out in the car park. His carriage to the quiet place he calls his castle... "Yes, Sir?"

Blue eyes, despite being set into an older, wrinkled face, stand out proudly, stare at him with a neutralness he's come to know well. They neither smile nor frown, just simply stare. "Study that over the weekend."

Jones nods, and with the same neutralness, "Quiz on Monday, Sir?"

DCI Barnaby pauses all movement, gives his young DS a look that displays his thoughts without giving him reason to speak them. _Really?_

He allows the corners of his lips to be pulled up into his signature grin. He loves pushing the old man's buttons, no matter how much the old man doesn't enjoy it himself. He nods shortly a few times, reaching for the manilla folder. "Read it over the weekend. Got it. Have a good weekend, Sir." His twitchy fingers finally scoop up the set of keys lounging on his desk, and with a triumphant smile, he gets up from his desk and strides for the door.

Leather interior has never felt so good. Like a teen driving for the first time, he grips the steering wheel eagerly. The engine sends excited shivers down his back, the purrs of both big and little gears working together give him another reason to smile. It's true what they say about vehicles, he decides. When the engine feels good, so does the driver.

It all comes together as he finally sets on his way. The friction of tires and road beneath his body, soothing away all of the aches of a long week of work, the gentle rock of the vehicle on every curve he pulls the steering wheel to, the calm blur of blacks, blues, greens and browns as he whirs past the trees in nothing but the buttery light emanating from the front of the Volvo. He can't help but allow a sigh to resonate from the warm refines of his throat. Finally, a moment in which he has nothing to worry about.

His hands adjust the wheel slightly as he prepares for another curve in the road, only this time, something isn't right. As he rounds the last couple of feet, something stands in the middle of the road...something short and golden, and...directly in his path. All he can think to do is the one thing you're not supposed to do: jerk the wheel and slam on the breaks. The ploy works, for he misses the obstacle, coming to safe, if not rough stop just a few yards away.

"_A little girl." _He thought. He'd almost hit a little girl. He flung the door open without thinking, began to get out of the vehicle as quickly as he could, only...to be gagged on his seatbelt. A strangled sound, which can't be described aside from that, choked out of his throat as he felt his body sink back into the seat. He didn't even have time to think, really. He just flung the seat belt off and headed down the road at a sprint after locating the small figure just up ahead.

"Are you all right?" He asked. Then after a few deep breaths, "What are you doing? Why are you in the middle of the road?" His voice defined the word flustered.

The child couldn't have been older than five, the top of her head only reaching to his waist. Dark messy hair had fallen down in her face, blocking her eyes from his view. She tugged on the collar of her t-shirt, like bored children do, not daring to look at him as she kicked feebly at something invisible on the pavement.

Jones's senses heightened, causing him to look up and down the stretch of road. They needed to get out of the middle of it, quickly, before another car rounded the curve. Quickly (albeit awkwardly), he placed his hands on her shoulders, pushed her in the direction of the ditch and his car. When he felt that they were safe, he knelt down to her level, brushed some of the hair out of her eyes...striking blue ones, and asked, "Where are your parents?"

The child stared at the ground...or his shoes, he couldn't tell which.

He shifted his weight. "Do you have a name?"

Still, she stared at the ground.

Jones sighed. "I'm a police officer, you don't have to be afraid."

She looked up at him quickly. "Police?"

He nodded. Finally, he was getting somewhere. "Mhm. And I'm going to help you. But, I need to know who you are, and where your parents are at."

The child looked back down at the ground. "I dunno, mister."

Jones cocked his head to the side. "Were you looking for them?"

She looked at him again, and this time Jones could there was fear in her eyes. "Police?"

He nodded, his brows drawing together. "Yeah, police."

The child did the most unexpected thing, then. She threw her arms around him, buried her face in his neck. Jones's eyes widened, looking frantically about while he seemed frozen in place. He reached up, hands hesitating, and pat her on the back.

"I'm going to take you to the police station, okay?" When the child didn't move, he gently peeled her off of him, took her by the hand as he stood. So much for a peaceful evening...

**I shall not post any more until I get some feed back. I haven't written anything in a while, so if it's complete and total rubbish, I completely understand. Please be mindful that I'm just warming up. :) Thanks! Reviews are the wood for my fire!**


	2. Cookies, Guts, Cigarettes

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the child.**

It had been an awkward ride, at first. He'd had to load her into the back seat, buckle her up, and turn around. He'd tried asking her again what her name was, who and where her parents were. He'd even asked what school she went to, so that maybe he could get a hold of her teacher, but that didn't work either. All she did was sit in the back seat, tug at her seat belt and clack her heels together. He stopped trying to get information when she started pretending to fall asleep.

Now, as he pulls up to the station, he's relieved to see that there are lights still on. Perhaps now he can shove this kid off on someone else...He steps out of the Volvo and opens the door for her, surprised that she's already out of her seat belt and doing her best to climb down from her seat. Once she's on her feet and he's closing the door, she surprises him yet again by grabbing his hand, her tiny fingers finding one of his. Not knowing what else to do, and figuring the poor thing is scared, he simply envelops it in his much larger one and leads her toward the doors.

It's Gail that he finds, sitting all alone at her desk in the midst of the others, not too far from his. She looks up and smiles at him, begins to ask if he's forgotten something, then pauses and draws her brows together. "Who's this, then?"

Jones shakes his head, raising his brows. "She hasn't told me anything. I came around bend in the road and..." Shakes his head again, "I picked her up to see if someone could help me locate her parents."

The child whips her head in his direction, her hair (a lighter brown than he'd been able to tell in the moon light) falling back, out of her face. Her eyes, even more striking blue in the lights of the office, widen. She tightens her grip on his finger, presses against his leg.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Gail asks sweetly, leaning forward with a smile. "Will a cookie make you feel better?"

The magic word. Cookie. The child comes forward as quickly as her little legs will carry her, even allowing Gail to hoist her onto her lap.

"You're very pretty." Gail says. "Do you have a pretty name, too?"

"Fank 'oou, misf." The child says with a mouthful. "Faif."

Gail chuckles, leaning closer. "Faith?"

"Mmmmhm."

"Well, that's a very pretty name. Do you know how we can contact your parents, Faith? Can you remember any of their phone numbers?"

Faith shakes her head, polishing off the last bit of cookie. "Nope."

"Do you know their names?"

"Mhm. Mummy and Daddy."

Jones snorts, pressing his backside to the edge of a desk as Gail chuckles, then wipes the crumbs from Faith's face.

"Okay, what about your last name?"

"Cox."

Gail nods in the direction of her computer. "Ben?"

Jones doesn't speak a word, or even nod, for that matter. He just comes around beside them from his perch, clicking different icons and words, until he types the child's name into an open slot. "Danny and Jessica Cox. Are those your parents, Faith?"

"Mhm." Faith hums, tucking against Gail while reaching toward the top desk drawer.

Gail takes the cue, presenting another chocolate chip cookie.

"Hullo? May I speak to Danny Cox? Okay. DS Ben Jones. We have your little girl down here at Causton Police Station. Sorry? Yes, Faith. No-" He presses the phone to his chest, saying quietly, "They have no car...it's in the shop."

Gail nods. "Okay. We'll take your car."

"Right. We'll be right there. Yes, you're welcome. Well," He says, hanging up. He bends over, eye-level with the kid. "Ready to go for another ride?"

Faith just sighs, munches on her cookie.

"Okay." Gail stands up on the note, cradling Faith on her hip. "Want another cookie for the road?"

Her eyes light up, but despite the offer, she presses even further against the woman officer.

"Faith, do you want another cookie?" She asks again. "You won't get in trouble."

Faith shakes her head again, before laying it against Gail's shoulder.

"O-kay then." Jones says, raising his brows. "Are we ready?"

It's another quiet ride. Faith, as before, pretends to be sleeping in the backseat, while the two officers keep mostly to their thoughts, with the exception of the occasional small talk. Not that there's much time for small talk to begin with, the two having found the place quickly and easily enough. Jones puts on the parking break as Gail removes her seatbelt, both taking in the environment as Faith begins to stir as well.

The trailer isn't trashy. Then again, it's not the cleanest. The tires had gone flat long ago, grass and weeds growing tall around them. The paint, which was white at one point, is beginning to peel, revealing a metallic gray beneath. A wooden picnic table stands not too far from the trailer, graffitied beyond repair and with enough slogans and "drawings" to make even a sailor shake his head. Various toys are littered across the ground, too, and Jones even manages to trip over one despite his watchful eye. Faith holds tighter to Gail's hand as he rings the door bell, tucks a little against her leg, too.

A tall man in about his thirties answers the door, white tank-top slung across his right shoulder, black sweatpants hanging precariously on his hips. A cigarette sits loosely between his lips, a large, heavy silver and gold watch on his left wrist. The buttery light coming from inside the home bathes his black hair and darker skin, making him look more Mexican than Italian. He eyes the two civilian-looking police, then takes the cigarette between two fingers. Puffing out a cloud of smoke in Jones's face, he asks with raised brows, "You're police?"

Jones nods, trying to hold back a cough as his eyes water. "D-...DS Ben Jones, and WPC Gail Stephens. I found your daughter in the road about," Pauses, checks his watch, "Half an hour ago."

The man, Danny, looks Gail up and down, then rests his gaze on his daughter. His brown eyes turn just a shade darker, and he puts his right hand forward, bending his fingers just a little in a "come here" motion.

Jones also puts his hand up, at Danny. "Just a moment, sir. Might I ask why your daughter was in the middle of the road...at a quarter to ten?"

Danny rolls his eyes, sticks the cigarette back in his mouth. "Prolly wandered off." He says in a light, accented voice. "Goes off all the time."

"And you didn't look for her?" Jones asks.

"We were off. Called for a babysitter. Guess she didn't come."

"You didn't wait for her?"

"No. He doesn't show up until a few minutes after we're gone."

"So...you just leave your child alone?"

Danny slowly closes his eyes, then opens them again as he tilts his head to the left, raising his hand again. "Look, officer. We've always left before the sitter comes. Doesn't hurt to leave the kid alone for a few minutes. Teaches her to be dependent...if only just for a bit."

"Or for a few hours, like today." Jones says, his tone a little snippy. "Mind if I come in, sir?"

His eyes narrow, smoke pouring slowly out from the gap between his lips. "Whatever."

The trailer is just about as clean inside as out. Toys all over the floor, ash treys in various areas of the room. Jones is only able to take in a little of the surroundings before a short, brown-haired, blue eyed woman walks into the room. Her white t-shirt and plaid pj bottoms are several sizes too big for her, and the cigarette in her mouth doesn't help her image.

"'Oo's this, then? We got company?" Her Cockney is a shock to her husband's Italian-accented voice...a shock to Jones's accent, even. It only takes her a moment to notice little Faith partially behind Gail's leg, a large, fake smile tugging her lips as she drops the cancer stick into a nearby ash trey. "There's li'le Faithy! Where you been off toooo?"

Faith doesn't move to her mother's open arms, just stands beside Gail and says, "Mummy." quietly.

It's all that Jones needs to turn to Danny again. "Mr. Cox, what do you do for a living?"

"Carpenter. I do a little constructive work, too, when I have time. Got a friend in the construction business. Takes me in for a job every now and then."

Jones nods, gestures to Mrs. Cox, who's managed to scoop Faith up onto her hip. "What about Mrs. Cox?"

"Trainee nurse. Three days a week."

Jones nods again. "Where'd you go out to this evening?"

"Just for a drink. Why?" His eyes narrow again.

"Just wondering. Leaving a young child alone for hours at a time can be considered child abuse, sir."

"Now hold on." His accent thickens, eyes darkening again. "I didn't know the sitter wasn't gonna show up. It's a one time thing, alright? And 'ay, what's she doing?"

Gail returns to the room from a narrow hallway, hands tucked in her pockets, brows raised. "Just looking around, sir. Police instinct is all it is."

"Right. I'd appreciate it if you'd take your instinct away from here. Been a long day...ready to crash."

"Right, sir." Jones says, digging in his wallet. "Here's my card if you ever need anything."

Danny simply glances at it from within his palm, then opens the door.

"Suspicious lot." Jones shakes his head once they're in his car again. "Did you find anything? Anything illegal, anyway?"

Gail also shakes her head, buckling her seatbelt. "Nothing. Just cigarettes."

They remain quiet as he pulls out of the drive, the atmosphere beginning to settle as the engine lulls them into their own thoughts. Jones still can't help but shake his head, though, and take each curve cautiously.

"What's wrong, Ben?"

He glances at her briefly, quiet for a few moments. "Something doesn't feel right about them. And I-..." Shakes his head again. Then in a softer tone, "I almost hit that child, Gail."

Gail tips her head, remaining quiet.

"I-...She was just right there, you know? Right in the middle of the highway, just standing there. I could've killed her."

Gail nods, understanding. "But you didn't." She says softly.

"I know. But, it would've been so easy. I could've killed her in a blink. If I hadn't acted so quickly...I nearly turned my car over swerving around her. Who does that, anyway? Leaves their kid alone without knowing someone's gonna show?"

Gail nods again. "We'll keep an eye on them, run some background checks. I understand where you're coming from." She smiles. "She'll be alright."

He nods too, slowly. "Hope so." But one thing that Gail can't tell about him is that there's a knot in his belly, deep down in his gut, that tells him something isn't right.

**Shorina: Thank you! I was trying for funny, and I'm glad to know I achieved it. :) As for the car, I knew it had changed a few times, but I wasn't sure which one he began driving in the newer episodes. I didn't even notice he drove a Ford! Hah! Volvo is one of my favorite cars, so I just went with that one. Thanks for pointing it out, I'll have to look closer next time. XD As for the eyes, I'm a real sucker for them. Dunno why. The eyes are just the main thing I focus on when someone's speaking.**

**Rollieo 122: I had thought so too, until he got a close up in "The Axeman Commeth", Lol! But that's okay, I don't really care what color his eyes are, I just always picture him with brown ones. Oh, yes, he's VERY awesome. XD Thanks for the compliment on that line! I wasn't sure how it would be taken...****I'll certainly be posting faster, as I feel inspired by this one, and thank you for taking such an interest!** **Glad you're enjoying it. :)**

**DarknessDeadly: Why, thank you! I love my car a lot, so I just thought I'd pour some of that into my favorite character. At the end of the day, after my work is done, I'm all, "I wanna go for a drive!" Lol. More to come, glad you like it! :)**

**Lots more to come, thanks everyone who reviewed! All I ask is that you keep it up, because your insight is the wood to my fire. If there's anything anyone would like to see happen in this fic, just drop me a pm! Thanks again!**


	3. Tea Time

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, Faith and her family. Thank you.**

**WARNING. Chapter contains brutality. Ye be warned. **

He slept well, for once. Full night, no interruptions. He sits up in his average-sized bed, his hair ruffled, his white shirt crooked, and looks at the clock with bleary eyes. Next, out of habit, he reaches for his mobile. No texts. No missed calls. He can't help but smile. An unhindered saturday morning! His feet touch the floor lightly as numb fingers come up to attack the itch on the back of his neck, his knees popping to support his weight.

He goes through the usual route, bodily relief, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, then settles himself on the couch in his undershirt and plaid boxers. One moment to find the remote, and...oh, yes. Highlights from the Liverpool/Chelsea game! A nod, another smile. It's a good day to be Ben Jones.

That is, it _would _be a good day to be Ben Jones...if he didn't own a mobile. He barely has time to give a celebratory shout for the winning team, before it goes off in its annoyingly shrill chirp of a ringtone. He puts his arms down from their victory position above his head, closes his mouth from shout to frown, then slouches.

"DS Jones."

"Got an interesting one, Ben." It's Dr. Bullard.

A sigh, a twitch of the thumb to flip off the tellie. "Where?"

"Causton. White Lion Restaurant."

Another sigh. "I'll be there in a bit."

Bullard chuckles. "By the way, what was the score?"

* * *

Gail is waiting for him when he pulls the parking break and kills the engine. She nods at him cordially, as he does to her, falling into step at his side.

"What's the predicament?" He asks.

"We're not sure who the victim is, yet. Uniform are combing for an ID, and as for the body..." She doesn't have to finish. She allows the sentence to hang in the air when he freezes beside her, just outside the kitchen door of the restaurant.

The body is strewn across one of the three stainless-steel tables nearest to the door...literally strewn. Jones covers his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his jacket, closing his eyes momentarily to gain his stomach back.

"We haven't located all the toes to his right foot." Gail starts, keeping her voice soft. She, too, finds it difficult to hold her stomach down. "We found three in the corner, over there." She gestures to the upper right part of the room.

"What-...What about his left foot?" Jones leans against the doorframe.

"Sink."

He opens his eyes, ventures a look at the body again...then his eyes go wide. Shaky legs take him slightly closer, carefully over or around the pools of blood, until he can see the slashed face as clearly as he can. A glance at the man's left wrist, at the heavy gold and silver watch, confirms his suspicions. "That's Danny Cox."

Gail's brows knit together. "How can you tell?"

"The watch, on his wrist." He steps over the pools of blood again, back to the door, proud that his stomach had stayed on his side...until someone walked by with another piece of what used to be part of Danny Cox.

He makes a mad dash from the room, nearly colliding with DCI Barnaby. The chief inspector moves quickly to the side, noting the hand over the mouth and the slight green pigment in the skin of his young sidekick, then turns to Gail. "That bad?"

Gail just nods. "Danny Cox. He's the father of Faith Cox, the child we delivered last night."

"Child?"

"Yes, sir. Ben said he found her standing in the middle of the road. Couldn't get a word out of her...what her name was, where she lived, who her parents were. He brought her to the station and I coaxed out a name. We got a hold of the parents and took her to them. They didn't have a car, it's in the shop."

A nod, then a look at the body. "That's a clean cut." He gestures to the left leg.

"Indeed, sir. We suspect he was tortured. Some of it is clean cut, some...more painfully removed. He's also got a few burn marks on him, as well."

"Mhm." He hums, going about his business like he usually does. "Was he married?"

"Yes, sir, to Jessica Cox."

"Hmm...Let's have a talk with Mrs. Cox, shall we? Find out if Mr. Cox had any enemies."

Gail nods. "Yes, sir."

Jones is leaning against the car when they leave the building, right hand pressed to chest, breathing heavily and face red, now, instead of green. Barnaby's expression is neutral, while Gail's is slightly more sympathetic, but nothing more.

"Sir." He pants.

"Do you remember how to get to the Cox's home?"

A nod. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Lead the way?"

Another pant, another nod. "Certainly, sir." He straightens up slowly, opening the passenger side for Gail before entering. It's not long before he has the car started and on the road, the friction between tire and pavement and the smooth, subtle movements of the vehicle are soothing his qualms away. He glances at Gail from the corner of his eye, still taking each curve in the road with caution. "Did you pull anything up on background check?"

She watches the road as well. "Not really. Mr. Cox spent a night in jail for drunk and disorderly, and Mrs. Cox only had a load of speeding tickets."

"Nothing illegal, then." He says neutrally.

"Nope."

"And the girl...Faith? What about her? Does she have any other family?"

"No. It would appear that she has no grandparents...no aunts or uncles." She pauses. "No, no, sorry, I lied. She has one aunt. Arrested multiple times for drunk and disorderly, not paying speeding tickets...you name it."

"Hmm." He says, then he's quiet for a moment. "Did so-..." Another pause. "Did something seem...different, about Faith?"

She turns to look at him, brows knitting. "Wrong?"

"Yeah, you know. She seemed...different."

"She was scared. Couldn't you tell?"

"Yeah, but something just seemed off, is all; something wasn't right with her."

"I'd imagine she was just scared, and shy."

"She warmed up a lot faster to you." He points out.

"She's a girl. You know how little girls are. Just like little boys bond better with men."

He just nods, and they don't speak for the rest of the drive.

* * *

Barnaby is the first to reach the door, taking on his normal role as superior officer. The three compose their faces into masks of neutral, Barnaby's more fierce than the others. Jones takes on the appearance of focus, while Gail's is just observant.

Mrs. Cox opens the door, slowly at first, allowing just enough room for her eye to peek out, then enough for her to stick her head through. "What?" She asks stiffly, acting more like a teenager than a thirty-something mother.

"Mrs. Cox, is it? Jessica Cox?" Barnaby asks.

Mrs. Cox scrunches her nose up, a scowl pulling at her lips. "'Oo wants to know?"

Barnaby raises his brows, just a tad, as he pulls his wallet out from his left hip pocket. "I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby, and these are my assistants Detective Sergeant Jones, and DC Stephens. I'm afraid to say we have a few things to discuss."

"Look, if it's about that speeding ticke', I already dun paid for i'."

"I'm afraid...it's much bigger than that, Mrs. Cox. If we could come in..." He says, his brows raising a little more, his tone lighter.

Mrs. Cox eyes the three, opens the door wider without another word.

The trailer is even messier than the day before, Gail notes. There are more toys strewn about, and a few dirty dishes. Faith is in the middle of all of it, the paw of a teddy bear in one hand, the page of a book being turned with the other.

Gail smiles at the child, steps toward her. "Faith, did I see a playhouse outside?"

Faith's eyes brighten. "Mhmmm."

"Why don't you go show it to me? It looks like fun."

Faith looks to Mrs. Cox, who just waves her hand dismissively. "Go on, then."

It's not quite a smile, just a hint, but it's good enough for Gail to feed off of, and she takes the child by the hand, and out of the trailer.

"I had a chocolate chip cookie today." Faith says, no real emotion behind the words.

"Did you?" Gail responds. "Was it good?"

"Mhm. It made me think of you, because I don't get to have sweets very often."

Gail looks down at the child, who adjusts her teddy bear in the crook of her arm. "Oh? Why don't you?"

"Daddy says they're bad for you, and mummy doesn't like to cook them very often."

A scream comes from the trailer. It isn't a pained scream, or an angry one, but more like a cry. The two pause and look back at the trailer, and before Gail knows it, her hand is being tugged.

"Mummy used to do that all the time. She said whenever it happened, to just go in my room and plug my ears, that she was okay. I could never get in their room when she yelled anyway, because the door was locked, and daddy was yelling with her." Faith just shrugs, continues walking. "Do you still want to see my playhouse?"

Gail, who'd been struggling not to allow her jaw to drop, makes an attempt to bring her brows back down from her hair line. "Yes. Yes, let's go see the playhouse." She's amazed at how this isn't affecting the child. But then again, she isn't old enough to know about...But, wouldn't it frighten her, hearing the shouts? Shouts of anger, or shouts of..."What a lovely playhouse!" She rushes out. "You must have a lot of fun in here. It even has a working lightbulb!"

"Sometimes."

"It only works sometimes?"

"No, sometimes I have fun in here. This is my hidy-spot. When mummy and daddy would fight, I'd come in here, or when I was sad. I mostly like to spend time with Mr. Brown in here."

"Who's Mr. Brown, then?"

Faith's eyes shine, brighter than when she'd first heard mention of her playhouse, and she smiles. "My teddy bear!" She giggles, holding up the bear.

Gail giggles back, and tired of being bent over in the playhouse while Faith was at such ease standing up, lowers herself down on the floor, and crosses her legs. Noting the plastic tea set to the side, she reaches for the tea pot, and says, "Tea, mi'lady?"

* * *

"You're certain that your husband didn't have any enemies?"

"If 'e did, he d-d-d-didn' tell me." Mrs. Cox sobs into a tissue.

"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Cox?" Barnaby asks calmly.

"'E's from Italy." She snarls. "'E could've been involved with the bloody Mafia for all I know! Didn' tell me anythin' about his past, aside from 'e didn' like 'is family, so 'e came over 'ere!" Mrs. Cox lets out another howl like earlier, causing Barnaby's brows to twitch and Jones to reach tentatively to one of his ears. "'E'd sleep 'till noon, ge' dressed, an' go to work. Ge' a drink at the pub, then come 'ome." Another howling sob.

"We could come back, if you like." Barnaby says softer.

Mrs. Cox nods, nothing more.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you not to leave town, or Faith." He ads, same tone.

"Alrigh'." She nods. "Just go."

Jones leaves a box of tissue on the couch next to Mrs. Cox, wasting no time in following his superior out the door afterwards. Once he's certain the door is firmly shut, he reaches up to his ears, quickly, and rubs them. "I think I lost part of my hearing in there." He says, pained.

Barnaby just raises his brows again, making for the playhouse after a glance around the property for Gail. "I've been through worse."

"Worse?" But then he ponders, and shrugs. Next, he's trying not to laugh once Barnaby opens the door to the playhouse after a polite knock.

There's Gail, cross-legged on the floor, a silly little flowery hat on her head (much too small), plastic tea cup in her hand. Across from her, little Faith, sporting a hat resembling Gail's, and a teddy bear between the two, a tea pot resting on his lap...also with a flowery hat on his head.

"Hi Mr. Barnaby!" She giggles.

Barnaby smiles, raises his hand chest-height, waves with his fingers. "Hello, little one."

Faith looks at Jones, next. "Mr. Jones, your face is funny."

True. Brows raised, face red with pent-up laughter, fist covering mouth. He closes his eyes and laughs silently.

"If...you wouldn't mind," Barnaby starts, playfully regretful, "I'm afraid I need my officer back."

Her lower lip pooches out. "Do you _have _to go?"

Her heart melts. "I'm afraid so."

"Will you come back?"

She pauses. "Certainly."

"Pinky promise?"

Could her heart melt any more? "Pinky promise." Then she seals the deal, linking her pinky with the child's. She then stands up, after removing her silly hat, and places the cup and saucer back with the set. "Will you be alright out here? For a little while?"

"Mhm. I spend a lot of time in here, anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Bye bye, Miss Gail."

Gail smiles. "Bye." When they're considerably far enough away from the playhouse, she turns to Barnaby. "What did you find out, sir?"

"Little more than we already knew." He sighs. "Just use Ben's notes and whatever information we get from forensics on monday."

"Yes, sir."

Jones opens her door for her again, and can't help laughing once he's situated in his own seat next to her.

"Shut up!" She smiles. Her hand makes quick contact with his upper arm, but it can't make the disturbing information she learned from the child go away.

**Shorina: Thank you for noticing. :) I thought it would be cute if she bonded a lot quicker with Faith than Ben. Glad you're looking forward to more!**

**DarknessDeadly: Hmm...I don't know. ;-) *evil laugh* As for the car, I feel the same way when I want to get away from work! Lol! **

**Thank you for your reviews! Just keep them coming and the chapters will continue to roll. Remember what I keep saying about firewood. XD**


	4. Deadweight

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the girl and her family. Thank you. **

Ohhh...Lord, his head is killing him. Brewing, throbbing pain is pulsing in his cranium. Not the front, around his forehead and eyes, or the back, or the sides. His _whole _head. Jones rubs his eyes, opens them, blinks. He doesn't see stars, or spots, but something about his vision definitely feels haywire. He rubs them again, blinks. Throbbing, that's what's wrong.

Despite his whole noggin pounding, he can feel his heart beat...right behind his eyes. It feels as though it would be easier for him to just allow his eyes to zone out and blur, rather than fight and keep them in focus. He groans, cups his hands on the surface of his desk, and cradles his aching skull. He'll usually get a headache after reading a pile of research on the computer, or after filling out a ton of paper work...but he's hardly done anything. He got to work, sat down at his desk, picked up one sheet of paper, then..._boom._ No, no, he realizes. It had started off small, barely even noticeable, and making the mistake that most do, had tried to ignore it.

Well, that worked out.

Now, as he sits, he can feel someone hitting him with a mallet...except there's no one near him. Colors swim before his pupils despite his closed eyes, his stomach turns. He tries to stand up, only for the blood to rush to his head. Gravity takes advantage, pushing him back down into his chair. He clasps a hand over his forehead, takes a deep breath, then tries again. Like Goliath after being hit with a stone, he just stands and sways, managing to support most of his weight on his desk before he can fall before his Israeli foe.

_What's going on, here? _He wonders. He'd had an early morning, yes. What's new? He touches a hand to his forehead again, tentatively. The knot in his stomach twists again, and the next thing he knows, he's hugging a toilet in the men's room. They're not light heaves, either. They rattle his body, forcing him forward with such a force that he has to lean down closer to the water in order to avoid a spread out mess. His fingers clench the rim, his temperature climbs.

When the last scraps of breakfast make it into the porcelain, he slumps down to the floor, against the left side of the stall. His breaths are heavy as he crosses his arms over his belly, sweat dribbling down his back. He's certain if he took his jacket off, it would probably show, too. _Pull yourself together, _his mind soothes, _Get some medication, get back to work. _Certain that he can't possibly throw up anymore (not that he'd have the energy too, anyway), he struggles to his feet, legs shaking.

"Jones?"

"Y-...Yes, sir?" His boss _would _be the first person he'd run into, go figure.

"Jones, I finished this file not too long ago. Take it to Bullard, he's been waiting for it."

Great. Bullard's dissection lab is the last place he needs to be; the smell bothers him enough on a day when he feels completely healthy. "Y-yes, sir." He reaches feebly for the folder, only for it to slip easily from his fingers to the floor. The paperwork within scatters, he curses softly. "Sorry, sir."

"Are you alright?" It's not Barnaby that asked the question, but Gail. "Ben? You don't look so-"

* * *

Everything is so...black. Why is everything black? He can _hear _voices, and _feel _something cool and wet on his forehead, but he can't-...it would help if he opened his eyes. He's greeted by several familiar faces: Barnaby, Bullard, Gail and a friend in uniform, Liam.

Bullard is the closest, he being the one with the most anatomical knowledge. He smiles in that charming Bullard way, feeling the area beneath Jones's jaw and checking his pulse. "Ah, you're awake."

"Awake?"

Bullard nods. "Yes, awake. The state which you're in after you've been asleep."

"You fainted." Gail puts in. She grabs another wet paper towel from Liam, dabs at his forehead. "You gave us all a scare."

Jones furrows his brows. "I-...I fainted?"

"Yep." Liam answers. Though he displays a playful smile, he knows his green eyes can't hide the concern from long-time friend Jones. He just plays it out, like he always does. "Fell right out on the floor. Nearly took your boss out in the process." He laughs softly through his nose.

Jones looks up at his boss, standing not too close, but not out of the loop, either. "I-..."

"Tried to catch you. You're just a deadweight." He smiles sportively, but not out of the bounds of anxiety.

Bullard cups his face, turning his head to get a better look at his eyes. Withdrawing a small torch from his pocket, he holds up his left index finger. "Focus on the tip of my finger."

He does so, following it as the light shines in his eyes. "What-...I just...fell?"

"Stone cold." Bullard replies. "Took two strong young men to get you in your desk chair. Have you been feeling sick lately?"

Jones shakes his head. "No...not until this morning. I got a headache. Tried to ignore it. Made me sick. Came back to try to work, then blacked out."

"Hm." Bullard nods, drawing his lips into a thin line. "What are your symptoms?"

Jones closes his eyes, swallows. Ugh...it hurts to think. "Throbbing headache...vomiting. I thought I only had a migraine until..."

"Obviously you've been feeling dizzy? Fatigued?"

"Yeah."

"Been a bit congested, too?"

"Mhm." He coughs.

"Chest pain?"

"Yeah...been going on for a few days, now."

"Ahhhh." Bullard crosses his arms. "You might have influenza. Go home, soak in some warm water, and sleep. All you can really do is rest. Plenty of fluids, you know the drill."

Yes, he knows the drill. This could mean missing a week of work. Which means a large chunk out of his paycheck. He began to protest, tried to sit up and claim he was okay, now that it was out of his system...until a wave of nausea came over him. He sinks back down as Bullard says something, he doesn't know what, to Barnaby, then walks away. "Sorry, sir." He mutters.

"Don't apologize." He says simply. "Just do as your told. Warm bath, hot tea, sleep. Don't come back until you're well. That's an order."

Jones smiles weakly, not even bothering to open his eyes. "Concerned about my health, sir?"

Barnaby turns to his desk, saying over his shoulder, "No. I just don't want you getting all of my good officers sick."

* * *

The ride home was miserable. Gail had to pull the car over twice for him to empty his belly, and Liam had ended up having to get out of his own car and put the sick man back into the vehicle...on both occasions.

As he reflects now, though, he realizes...this is much worse. Being half carried, half dragged isn't exactly the best medication for your pride. Nor is having Gail dig around in your hip pockets for the keys to your front door, or having Liam practically holding you on his back by your hands while she does so.

He's practically unconscious when they deposit him on his bed, so he doesn't have to feel the rush of discomfort as they strip him down to nothing but his black briefs and hide his nearly naked self beneath the sheets.

Liam eases himself down onto the edge of the mattress, breathing heavily. "Right, then. Just let him sleep?"

Gail nods, leaning against the nearest bedpost to catch her breath as well. "Yeah, he should be out for a while."

He stands slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder as his breathing evens out. "Right this way then, mi'lady." He leads her out of the room and to the kitchen, offering her a seat at the table before investigating the contents of the refrigerator.

It's a tidy place, Gail realizes...for a bachelor. She hasn't explored, but if she had to guess, she'd say it's a two-bedroom, two-bath, with the living room and kitchen as practically the same room. The living room is tiny, large enough to contain two small navy blue couches, with a television tucked neatly in the upper right corner next to a sizable window.

The kitchen is even smaller, virtually a corner itself. The bar and fridge take up most of it, the fridge being a looming figure in the upper-left corner, the bar built-in place just a few feet away, creating a nice little nook. The stove-top oven is an older one, the method of lighting the burners being a match. It takes its place next to the fridge, and everything else about the kitchen, aside from the cupboards, is a countertop with a sink. No dishwasher in sight.

She looks back to Liam, making himself well-enough at home. There's a pile of sandwich meat on a plate, next to cheese and lettuce.

He's pulling out bread and a tomato when she catches his eye, and he pauses a moment with his brows raised. "What?"

"Making yourself at home?"

He remains stationary for a moment, then grabs a knife out of the drawer nearest him. "Ben and I go way back. Grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school. He doesn't mind feeding me every now and then." The knife hovers over the plump tomato. "I can fix you one, too."

"Oh, no thank you."

"Sure? It won't take me long, I could just grab another plate."

Gail shares a gaze with him for a moment. She didn't really have much of a breakfast, and it's getting pretty close to lunch to begin with..."You don't mind?"

Liam just smiles, reaching for more bread and another plate without a word.

She realizes now that this is probably the most time she's ever spent with him. She was in uniform with him, yes, but the only words they had ever really spoken to one another were work related. She comes to the conclusion that, despite being bald, he's really a rather attractive thirty-something. Thick, black brows shadow olive eyes, set just right over strong cheek bones. His nose is a little bigger than average, yet doesn't take away from his features. His lips set a neutral line as his fingers work nimbly, oddly graceful for someone with such paws for hands.

She pretends to be occupied by Ben's notepad when he looks her direction, feeling strangely guilty for getting caught staring at him. She doesn't look up again until he places the sandwich and a bottle of soda in front of her.

"What's that?"

"Ben's notes relating to the case so far. I didn't realize he paid so much attention to detail..."

Liam snorts, takes a big bite out of his sandwich. "Always been like that. I swear, he's still a child...only his body matured, that's all."

Gail smiles, turning a page. "Really?"

He nods, washing down the remnants of the first bite with soda. "Mhm. Never worked with anybody that asks so many questions. Guess that's good, though."

"Why do you say that?"

"It means he's real thorough. Not too much got by him when he was in uniform."

She turns another page, then pauses. After a few moments it turns into downright staring, and after a few more moments she picks up the pad and knits her brows at it.

Liam eases his sandwich down, leaning closer to her on his elbow. "What is it?"

"His notes." She says. "He quoted her-"

"Her?"

"The wife of Danny Cox, the man we found in the restaurant."

"What about her?"

"She said, "Sometimes I hate him...that man. He keeps bringing in all these strangers and...that _woman_. Not good for the child. I know he's not fond of her, but you don't see me running away. Sometimes I wish they would all just disappear.""

"All these strangers." Liam echoes. "And that woman." His brows furrow. "Doesn't he say anymore? His notes, I mean."

She shakes her head. "No, nothing. We'll have to ask him about it later."

"Or her. Aren't you supposed to go back?"

"Yeah, when Barnaby's ready." She takes a bite of sandwich, furrows her brows as she chews. "Though...I may not be able to go with him."

"Eh?"

"Ben." She says, reaching for the soda. "I may have to stay and look after him. I don't think he has any relatives near by to take care of him."

"You're willing to miss a week of work?"

"He's my friend, and he can't take care of himself at the moment." She says casually. "Besides, I'd want someone to do the same for me."

Liam nods, picking up his sandwich again. "Oh, I see. You're a good friend, Miss Stephens."

She smiles. "It's Gail. And thank you."

"Liam. You're welcome."

They smile at one another, Gail breaking eye contact first to grab her sandwich, Liam following shortly after. Lettuce crunches, soda bubbles. The rest is silence.

**Sorry for the wait! You know, college and all that, and Thanksgiving. Oh, and is it too early to start saying Merry Christmas? Oh well, I don't care. Merry Christmas! **

**Rollieo: Haha, thanks. I doubt it happens for him very often, so I decided to highlight it. I'm also a fan of football (soccer over here) as well. I can just imagine him having a morning like that! Lol! Don't know why, but I'm just drawn to characters that have been abused and whatnot, and I thought it would be something that would bring Gail closer to the kid. I wouldn't call it rambling...I always enjoy reading your feedback. :) Oh and as for the chapter two thing, 'tis fine! Those things happen. I hope this chapter was satisfactory for you! **

**Shorina: Thank you. :) I was hoping that little segment would be enjoyed. For some reason, I don't know why, I always have trouble writing Barnaby, so I really appreciate that compliment! THANK YOU again, LOL. I've been trying to figure out her rank, but everywhere I looked it said that she was a WPC. I knew she had gotten promoted at some point or other, but I didn't know what to. I just went with her earlier ranking and hoped someone would correct me, which you did. :) I hope this chapter was satisfactory!**


	5. Under Cover

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the girl and her family. **

His whole body is cramping, and he feels like there are tiny, fiery torches in his body, just beneath his skin. His head isn't throbbing as badly as it was yesterday, but it still hurts. Ben groans and rolls onto his back, unfolding his limbs from his torso. What time is it? Where is he? He opens his eyes...then shuts them just as quickly. Another groan vibrates in his throat, his hands reaching up to cup his face.

The mattress shifts, though he doesn't really feel it, and something gently pushes his hands down, replacing them with something cold on his forehead. He attempts to open his eyes again when something small and cool brushes his hair back from his face, and he briefly catches a glimpse of who he thinks is Gail before he has to close them again.

"Wa's goin' on?" He can't seem to operate his tongue correctly, and his throat feels just as dry and rough as sandpaper. "How long 'ave I been out?"

"You've been in and out for three days." She says quietly, dabbing his cheeks with the wet cloth.

Say what? Three days? No, that can't be right...he was just throwing up at work yesterday, wasn't he? "In'n'out?"

"Mhm. Liam's been walking you back and forth to the bathroom at your request."

The bath- "For wha'?"

"Well you know..and baths."

She's got to be leading him on. Yes, she's got to be, because he doesn't remember any of this. He reaches to place a hand on his aching belly, only to realize...there's no waistband. He feels around again, feels around lower-

He's naked.

Suddenly his pallid cheeks feel sultry, his body rigid. Though the blankets are up to his neck, he wiggles (not painlessly) until they're to his chin, and his hands can't seem to move from a specific area on his person, despite his whole body being hidden beneath a pile of quilts and wool blankets.

It takes all of Gail's willpower not to laugh, and she doesn't bother telling him that one of those times...she helped Liam lower him into the bathtub. She hides her smile by reaching for the glass of water sitting on the nightstand, offering him the straw. At first he thinks about refusing it, too embarrassed about his current state to want to take anything from her. But...his scratchy throat and dry tongue speak louder to him than his pride, and he drinks until half the glass is empty, then rolls over on his side...away from Gail.

"How do you feel?" She asks good-naturedly.

He just groans, trying to open his eyes without much success.

Attention diverted from her, she smiles, looking about the room as she does so.

The bedroom, much like the living room, is quite small. The bed, average-sized, takes up most of the room, centered on the far wall. The closet is on the opposite side of the room, not quite big enough to walk in, containing all of his suit jackets and shirts, t-shirts, coats, shoes polished and resting on the floor next to several pairs of sneakers. There's a medium dresser, oak, shoved into the upper right corner, next to the only window in the room...streak-free. She's surprised she didn't notice earlier that the carpet is a semi-darker blue, the baseboards lighter blue, and the walls a pale blue, giving the viewer an ocean feel. The bathroom is in the left side of the room, barely big enough to contain the bathtub/shower, toilet, and sink.

"Your room is well kept." She comments. "Nice color combinations."

"Thanfs." He slurs sleepily.

"Did you do them yourself?"

"M' sister picked the colors." He yawns. "I applied th'm."

She looks away from the window, stares at his back. "You have a sister?"

"Li'l sister. Heather. Works in London as a journalist."

She'd had no idea he had any siblings. Then again, she didn't know much about his family to begin with. Didn't know much about him. Period.

"Gail?"

"Hm?"

"Could you go get Liam? I...I n-...I need to ge' up." He grumbles, uncomfortable about the whole ordeal.

She starts to get up, but Liam is already at the door, brows raised and eyes glittering in mischievous amusement.

* * *

On the other side of Midsomer, Barnaby is on his way up the steps to Widow Cox's trailer, left hand steadying his black tie and red scarf from the wind, right poised to knock.

Faith answers the door, eyes instantly lighting up. "Mr. Barnaby!" Her voice is high pitched as she tries to look around him.

He smiles as his brows crease sympathetically. "I'm afraid Gail isn't with me this time." He says lightly.

Her face falls, just slightly. "Mr. Jones?"

"Sick."

"Oh." She says, shoulders slouching. "Is he okay? Is he gonna get better fast?" She looks over her shoulder quickly, then drops her voice to a loud whisper. "He can borrow my cough medicine...no, wait, he can have it! It's naaaaaaaasty."

Even Barnaby can't keep his heart from melting over _that_. He smiles broadly at her, chuckling softly as he takes the weight of the door off her little hand. "Well that's very kind of you, Faith, but I believe he'll be better in no time."

"Okay." Her eyes light up again. "Hey! You wanna come in? It's nice and warm inside."

"Certainly." He grins.

The trailer is even more disorganized than last time, he notices, with toys strewn _all _over the main room. On the floor, on the couch, in Late Danny Cox's dark green reclining chair...a few even rest on top of the television, stuffed animals, the lot of them.

Faith smiles up at him as she leads him by the hand, grabbing Mr. Brown from the recliner. "You can sit here, because my daddy doesn't use it anymore. I'll go get mummy."

He makes himself comfortable as the hyper child disappears, staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, then the overflowing ash treys on the end table next to his left elbow, and then Widow Cox as she comes sauntering in the room in her stained pink bathrobe. "Hello, Mrs. Cox." He says cheerfully.

She glares at him through red-rimmed eyes, puffing her cigarette quickly. His jovial attitude is an insult. "Don' call me tha'. It's jus' Ms. Elton now."

He nods. "Ms. Elton. Good afternoon."

She just grumbles inaudible things to his ears as she flops down on the couch, messy bun swinging loosely on the back of her head. She takes an unhealthily large drag from her cigarette, then lights up another one when the used one is still falling from her fingers into the nearest ash trey. "Wha' do you want, then?"

"Well," He starts, shifting so that he isn't sitting on the end of his scarf, "I told you I would have to come back later, Mrs. C-...Ms. Elton. I have important questions to ask you, involving the information you gave me last time, and-

"Coul'nt we just drop it, then?" She says irritably. "It's done."

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Elton." He says patiently. "Your husband has been murdered, and-"

"Exa'tly. Murder_ed_. It's done, finished. No need to question me."

Barnaby tilts his head toward her, linking his fingers atop his waist. "Don't you want us to catch his killer, Ms. Elton?"

She just scoffs, reaching for the glass of clear liquid sitting on the floor.

His brows raise slightly, eyes flicking to the small girl talking to her teddy bear and rinsing out a glass on her tip-toes, so she can fill it with the milk sitting out on the counter. He can smell what's in the glass from where he's sitting, and he knows it isn't water. "Well we can't just leave it alone." The cheerfulness is gone, replaced with his professional tone. So much for spreading his joyfully good mood... "So I'm afraid I'll still have to ask you the questions." He shifts his weight again, leaning on his right elbow. "You told us last time, "Sometimes I hate him, that man." I assume you were referring to your husband?"

She scoffs again, rolling her eyes as though the fact is obvious.

"You also mentioned that he kept bringing strangers into your home. Can you tell me anything about these strangers? Perhaps they turned into his enemies over time?"

"If I knew abou' thum, they woul'nt be strangers, now, would they?"

"Well can you tell me anything about them? What they looked like? What they wore?"

"Italian, jus' like my husband. They always dressed fancy like. All gussied up in suits and shiny shoes." She says impatiently.

"Do you think your husband was in any way related to the Mafia, Ms. Elton?"

"'Ow the hell should I know?" She snaps. "'E' told me to never ask him about his business. "Don' ask me about my business, Jess." Never told me anything abou' his past...never asked. Never desired to. Mine wasn't pleasant either."

His brows raise a little at the shouting, again looking over at the child, contently playing with her teddy bear on the kitchen floor. He begins to wonder if she's used to this, when he reels his mind back in and looks at Ms. Elton, who lights up another cigarette. "Who is the woman you briefly mentioned?"

Her brows crease. "Hm?" _Puff, puff...long stream of smoke...Barnaby's direction._

He blinks rapidly, fighting off the water being over-produced in his eyes. "You said, "He keeps bringing in all these strangers and that woman." Do you remember?"

"Mm." She nods, blowing out another long stream of smoke. "His sister. Bad influence on the child." She says dismissively.

His brows flatten, coming as close as possible for brows to come to straight lines, eyeballing her cigarette and liquor. "What would she come for?"

"Wha' woul'nt she come for? Money, drinks, drugs, food, you name it, she came for it."

"You also mentioned..." He looks at Faith again, torn for a moment. "You said, "You don't see me running away." and, "I wish they would all just disappear." Who were you talking about then?"

She pauses for a moment, looking him in the eyes as she pulls the cigarette away. "His sister and those men. Who'd you think I was talkin' abou'?"

He stares back levelly.

"You don' think I meant..." The shock in her eyes turns to anger, the cigarette coming to an abrupt end in the ash trey. "Are you accusin' me of-"

"You haven't exactly been very open with us, Ms. Elton." His voice is even, his eyes going back and forth between Ms. Elton and Faith, who, thankfully, goes out the front door with Mr. Brown. "So yes, you are a murder suspect. And until I'm able to sort out that you had nothing to do with your husband's murder, I'm going to have to ask that you not leave town."

The glare in Ms. Elton's eyes intensifies. "Will that be all, then?"

Barnaby stands, adjusts his coat. "For now, yes. Good afternoon, Ms. Elton."

He shows himself to the door, then, not bothering to wait for a reply. Faith is standing in front of his car when he looks up, tiny finger tracing the jaguar on the hood. He smiles and watches her while he digs for his keys.

"It's a panther." She says quietly, not even turning from the hood ornament.

"Well, a jaguar, but it's the same thing."

"Jaguar." She repeats. "Jaguar. Jaguar." She turns, then, dropping her little arm to her side. "Are you leaving, Mr. Barnaby?"

"Afraid so. I'll come back sometime, though."

She just nods quietly, shifting Mr. Brown to reveal the top of a plastic baggy. "Could you give these to Ms. Gail and Mr. Jones? We have a ton of them in the kitchen, and I don't want them all."

He finds his heart melting again. How could such a sweet child come from such a bitter family? He reaches out with a tenderly kind smile, holding the baggy up eye level to get a closer look. Cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Most of them crumbly and broken from being pressed against her little side, but chocolate chip cookies non-the-less.

"You can have some too, if you like. People brought a whole bunch of them to mummy when daddy died."

"You're very kind, Faith."

She just hugs Mr. Brown to her chest, resting her chin between his ears. "Bye, Mr. Barnaby."

It's one of the few times he's left a suspect's house with a smile.

**Free coffee and cookies for anyone that can tell me which line is a reference to a movie, and what the movie it is!**

**Shorina: Nah, it's fine. It's something I needed to know anyway, and was hoping someone would correct me on to begin with. :) LOL. You know, I was thinking the same thing earlier. Looking after a sick Ben is better than looking after no Ben, after all. ;) Also, thank you! I didn't realize my insight into his home would be so appreciated. I'll do that more, then. **

**DarknessDeadly: Lol. Knowing me, that would be exactly my luck, too. Thank you!**

**Rollieo: Too early for Christmas? Never! Well, perhaps in shopping malls...**

**For some reason, I just wanted to make him miserably sick. I know that makes me sound horrid, Lol, but to me, it makes him even more human. He hardly ever gets hurt or sick, which is good, but...Eh, you know what I'm getting at. :) Thank you! I'm always glad to know that my detail and insight are appreciated, especially when it comes to characters that **_**I**_** made up. And yes, I always appreciate your rambling. :)**


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